In the Animus
by Lisilgirl
Summary: AU. "I began praying to anybody out there –God, Satan, the God of Bartenders– to not let him kill me." Desmond meets the ancestors. [Desmond][Altaïr][Ezio][Connor]


_A/N: This is an AU (Alternate Universe) story, taking out historical liberties and in-game facts. Even though Desmond may speak to Subject 16 at some point, I wanted to have Desmond's bloodline of assassins together. There's so many games out there I haven't played it all, so excuse those inaccuracies. _

_I had a dream where all the assassins were together, and...it was brutal. They beat each other up until there was blood all over the floor, and then, they sat down and had tea. Odd dream._

_In celebration of the release of _Assassin's Creed 3 _(Thank God, finally!)_, _I've added in Connor. Calm, cool, collected. Awesome._

_Disclaimer: I do not own or take credit for the creation or characters of _Assassin's Creed Franchise_. This is meant for entertainment use only._

_**Warnings: Language. SPOILERS for Assassin's Creed: Revelations (and all those implications).**_

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XXX

In the Animus

XXX

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The first time in the Animus, I didn't understand why I was seeing _three_ ancestors at once.

The white tech room was filled with three other shapes beside me; I knew them on sight. Altaïr's left fist clenched; without a second of hesitation, he began to sprint, jumping into the white distance. It didn't engulf him and he didn't disappear, but it was clear he was moving considerably far away. It was like watching a race that went on…forever.

Were they...real?

A rush of motion caught my attention. The second figure began to yell in Italian, throwing his hands up into the air. I was holding my breath, completely awe-struck. Ezio stared at me from under his hood, clean and pristine.

Bent in a crouch, Connor was motionless. He didn't move at all. Shoulders hunched, his dark eyes flickered between Ezio and me, terrifying calm settling over his weathered face. There were calculations in his eyes. His fingers twitched to his tomahawk on his belt.

"Oh shit," I muttered.

It was Ezio that moved first. Within a half second –no bullshitting- my great-great-great-great-(uh?)-grandfather had wrenched me into a choke-hold, the hidden blade springing to life. It hissed near my throat, cold. My heart pounded, not because I was helpless, but because I was Desmond Miles for once, not a crazy-ass Italian or hard-ass Arab or kick-ass Mohawk.

The bleeding effect took hold. I kicked the Italian in his fine leather boots, then slammed into his stomach with my sharp elbow. While he was in shock, I threw a right hook to the face. Pain flared in my wrist. Blood spurted out of his nose a little bit. While he reeled, I kicked him for good measure with the side of my foot, then ran like hell, away from where Connor stood with his arms crossed, unmoving.

Ezio, to his credit, stood and began to sprint after me without any hesitation. I began praying to anybody out there –God, Satan, the God of Bartenders- to not let him kill me. It was too much trouble to get all of us back into the Animus. The weird currents were swaying around me, distorting the sound of his furious footsteps.

There were a few Italian curses as well.

It seemed to go on forever; my cheap watch said a few minutes. Ezio's screaming profanities gave way to ragged breathing; I couldn't hear him over my own thundering heartbeat. There was no way in hell I was stopping either, despite the pain in my side and the urge to throw up.

My feet bounded over a little bit of blood. I sighed. Running in circles is never fun.

Then, like a cat, Altaïr hamstrung me. Hamstrung!

I didn't even know how he'd surprised me when the Animus went on forever. You'd think I could have seen him coming.

There was nothing easy about this guy. He was built like a fuckin' tank! He held me down with two hands wrapped around my wrists, his own hidden blade leaping out with a snick. Dark eyes furious, he stared into my soul, and for a moment, I thought…_I. Will. Die. Right. Now._

Then my would-be killer turned into my would-be savior. Ezio slammed into Altaïr, ripping him away from me. Both began spitting and shouting, rolling on the slick floor trying to gain the advantage. Ezio's hand shot forward –I nearly screamed because if Altaïr went, we all went- but the oldest of the line jerked his head out of the way, kneeing Ezio in the groin. He took it in silence, and punched the Arab in the face, kicking him with more than a little viciousness while he was down.

I lied on my back and choked on a laugh. Such coincidences! Did neither of them see it was like looking into a mirror when they fought? Sure the training, strategies, and language were different. The curses definitely were. The funny thing was that I had all of the moves they were dishing out on behalf of the bleeding effect. And they were still kicking my ass.

_Oh shit. _Connor. I jerked my head around to see him, sitting on the ground with crossed legs. His head was in his hand, which rested on his knee. He seemed to be content to just sit.

The white continued on like heaven above us. Maybe that's what they thought this was: the next life. Then again, why would they have their weapons before the Pearly Gates? Truth was: if _I_ ever went to Heaven, I wasn't going to run around trying to kill an unarmed man wearing a hoodie and jeans. I would be trying to get through those gates.

The breathing stilled. The footsteps stopped. The smacking of fist on flesh stopped.

Glancing up, I saw Altaïr sheathing the blade, hands twitching at his sides. He spoke gruffly in Arabic to Ezio, who spouted off in quick Italian. Both tensed as the other tensed. It was spiraling out of control again.

I couldn't help it. I snapped, "Hey! Get a grip, already! Don't kill each other."

As the words spilled out of my mouth, the white was vanishing, and my mind was stretching…

XXX

The second time in the Animus, I was ready to discuss Abstergo with my ancestors.

It didn't happen the same way. Altaïr was first, winking into existence. He swooped around, and seeing me, his eyes pinned me down. His mouth opened up, ready to demand answers. I held up my hands, putting my left ring finger down like Lucy had told me. She insisted it would get me respect. And that the English translator would be fixed.

Altaïr stopped. Obviously, he recognized the sign.

"I am Desmond Miles," I said slowly, "I am a friend."

Ezio was suddenly there at my side, and he swore violently. Like a madman, he swung his arms around, very much similar to his first entrance. The eyes found me, and a decision was made in a split second. His fist somehow found my hoodie's collar. With an arm made of pure steel, he jerked me up.

"Who are you?" he demanded, the Italian lit prominent, "I do not recall falling asleep this time!"

I blinked, noticing Connor appear and crouch instinctively, staring at Ezio, who refused to move. They were murmuring a few choice words. Understanding each other, yeah? Whew. The English was being steadily translated. Good ol' Lucy.

Altaïr was shifting uncertainly, and Ezio's blade suddenly raised to my throat. He hissed, "Who are they? Are you in business together? Do you work for-"

"I'm Desmond Miles," I grunted, hands struggling to remove his insane grip. "I am a friend. An...assassi...friend!" _I need air..._

"A friend. _Certainly._ I'll kill you now?"

It was lightning that removed his hands from my throat. Altaïr twisted his arm so fast and so hard behind Ezio's back I thought for sure he broke it. Instead, violent curses came out, and Ezio was thrashing, ankles knocking Altaïr's legs down. Both fell in a pile of white robes. Unmoved, Connor sneered at them in amusement.

_Shit_, I thought, mouth gaping.

Altaïr's hand clenched tightly over Ezio's throat in a rare direct confrontation. "I do not know you," the Arab said softly, "But if a man shows me the sign of the Brotherhood, I do not question him." His eyes were death. "A hidden blade is not to be trifled with. Do not use it for mere show."

"You old man!" Ezio shouted, thrashing wildly, "I am not an assassin. You do not know me!"

"I know a man with a hidden blade is more than he seems," Altaïr said coldly, like ice in the air. He peered at the hidden blade sticking out of Ezio's shirt sleeve, and he snapped, "This is mine."

The situation was getting worse and worse, and what was I doing? Gaping like a fish. I hastily said, "Uh! Guys, I need to tell you something. It will all make sense, if you just listengoddammit..." Nervously, I held up my left hand, fourth finger down again.

Altaïr didn't let Ezio budge from his position, but he said, "Speak."

Oh shit. "Um…I am Desmond Miles. I live in America. I am a bartender." I hesitated. "I know you are Altaïr Ibn-la-Ahad of Masyaf, and you are Ezio Auditore, of Italy. Connor Kenway, of America is there. I know you are all in the Brotherhood."

_That_ shut both of them up. Ezio seemed to completely forget the man ready to cut his throat. He glowered up at me through bloodshot eyes. "You are a lunatic," he grunted bluntly, "I demand to know what is really going on. Where are we?"

"We are in...a computer. We can come here from different times because of a genetic code in my body."

"A computer?" Connor whispered. He crouched, cape settling on his knees.

I hesitated. Poor guy. He didn't know what was going on, and he was the closest in age to me. How could I even describe something so important as the present's technology? "Over time, people harnessed...lightning." Did I really just compare that? "Lightning now allows people to control...machines? Uh...how do I explain this?"

Ezio's shoulders lowered slightly as he pushed the older man off of him; Altaïr didn't resist; he seemed to fold in on himself. Connor crawled away from both of them, keeping space. Snapping, the Italian demanded, "What is the year?"

I told him. He swore violently.

"Then Borgia? He is dead?" Ezio stiffened. "Niccoló Machiavelli? My mother? My sister? All dead?"

I took a deep breath. _Good God, this is terrible_. "Uh...yeah. When I exit...this machine, I will see where they are buried. How they went." _Uh..._

"What has happened to the Brotherhood?" It was Altaïr who spoke next, stiff as a board. He looked infuriated and...afraid. That thought made me feel guilty. He was the master assassin of our bloodline, and I didn't know everything in the life he had once led. Other than he had two sons. Which he may or may not have at this point in his life.

I slapped my hands together. "There's an underground movement." When both of their faces twisted in scowls, I held up my hands, and said seriously, "The Templars are larger than us-"

"They always have been!" cried Ezio, whipping around to face Altaïr, "If you are so ancient a master, why have you not destroyed them when you had the chance?"

The Arab didn't budge. Bitterly, he sneered at Ezio, "Can a knife topple a palace? No. There are always stones and supports elsewhere to pluck from foundations to crumble. It is delicate." His dark eyes locked onto Ezio, who was staring, "What have you done, save for flaunt your wealth and status? Surely you have killed many, but never have you taken out more than five or six at a time?" His teeth seemed whiter when he bared them.

I was surprised, because for once, somebody made sense. Altaïr just wasn't...up to date on metaphors. Still, the Templars were like the stones of a palace, stacked and held up by others. If there were any way I could destroy them, I would, but there were always people –novices, guards, politicians—to take the place of the one in charge.

"Then...you know about Masyaf?" I hesitated.

There seemed to be a glitch of white in the air when Altaïr jerked. Instead, he just spit onto the polished floor. Words didn't seem to convey the anger he felt in his bones.

I realized how awkward we were: four nearly identical men standing in a semi-circle, wearing white clothes of different styles and cuts, silent in a never-ending computer simulation. It was wrong. I should never have been able to have a conversation with my ancestors. Could we even be killed in here? Where were their bodies? Sleeping? Standing in traffic? Would they even remember this?

"The Order..." Ezio suddenly asked, "How does our Brotherhood continue?"

Yes! Something I could answer. I cleared my throat, and opened my mouth.

Connor answered first. Ass. "The year is 1753. It's a place called the Americas, colonized by the British Empire." He straightened, suddenly drawing attention to his unshaven face and tired eyes. "The war continues. Desmond lives in the same location as I do, only years in the future. Witchcraft." He spit, following Altaïr's lead. Adapting. Trying to fit in.

At my shrug, Connor checked the knives and bow across his shoulder, hands deftly feeling for fractures in the wood and metal. "We speak the same language," he said suddenly, talking about me, "He has different speech fragments than I."

I stared.

What a tricky little shit.

While I wanted to learn more, I knew my time was limited. I couldn't be asking twenty questions here, especially if they wanted to trust me. I would maybe try to reassure them.

"Where were you, before..." I waved my hand, watching as Ezio huffed and Connor nodded, "...ending up here?"

It was a lame question. My eyes searched the familiar faces looking back at me, battle scarred and strong. The weird white infinity space around us bowed, like it knew I was talking about it. This place was insane. It was driving me nuts.

"I was walking along the pier, in Venice." Ezio's eyes suddenly became far away, and his fingers traced the designs on his white cape, especially the stitching along the edges. "I raced between my uncle's Villa in Monteriggioni and Florence before I decided to take my own way in the gondolas in the moonlight."

When Altaïr raised one eyebrow, Ezio snapped, "I wasn't visiting a flowering whore like you would no doubt, lecher. I was ruminating upon the deaths of my family. If only I could have prevented them. I would have been graciously accepted into the Brotherhood in the time of my years. My father was the finest Italy had to offer." He sniffed. "Then I am pulled here and I am shocked to find my face reflected in the most obscene strangers."

Without even hesitating, Connor laughed. His deep laugh seemed to be mocking, yet understanding of his fellow relative. "I hunt a deer. It is summer. The trees are full and my location is prime. Then, as I lunge, I am pulled into this area, without cover." His grin was literally wolfish as he pointed to Ezio. "This is more informative and interesting than merely hunting a deer. You question your life? Ask now, for I heard of you from my grandfather, Italian." His hair swung into his face.

When Ezio stiffened and pointed his nose away. "If you heard of me, it must be only my greatest endeavors."

Altaïr seemed to take enjoyment in the fact that Connor was wheedling the second oldest. He shrugged his massive shoulders when he saw me watching him. "I was riding to Spain. There had been a bureau without a guardian for some time. I needed...a different landscape about me."

"You couldn't handle the god-forsaken desert anymore?" Ezio snorted, not unkindly, "I would have never stepped foot there if I couldn't help it. Nothing to entertain a man with priorities."

"Your whores?" Connor asked innocently.

The Italian angrily puffed up at the insinuation. "You shut your mouth, peasant!"

I decided it was time to interrupt before it came back to blows. "I was speaking with a member of the Brotherhood-" I coughed, making Ezio and Connor break eye contact "-about what might happen in the future. The Templars have already rooted out several of our hiding spots, and we've tried to find a home for our equipment, but we don't have the funds. The money." I hesitated, trying to imagine how they'd react to me discussing online banking and electronic procedures and hacking. It wouldn't go well. "I've tried different names and companies, but nothing seems to keep the Templars from finding us for long."

Altaïr suddenly nodded, saying slowly, "The Templars find resources to hear whispers from even in the lowest places, especially informants." His dark eyes, colored from pain and hardship, met mine. "Do you have a traitor amongst you? Are you a traitor?"

A cold sweat swept through me. A traitor wouldn't be far from the truth. What if he were right? What if there was a traitor in the agency; what if it were a close friend? I couldn't imagine it was Lucy. It was a problem though. As long as we didn't know who was attempting to gather the information we had on the pieces of Eden, we were all in danger. Unconsciously, I rubbed my wrist. I bumped the unfamiliar neon green watch, and looked at the time. Less than a minute.

"I'm no spy," I said proudly, and I knew it was true. I hadn't believed in anything on the Farm when I was young and impressionable, but now, I had a cause. The Brotherhood was my life. I couldn't ever turn my back on them, no matter how I wanted to strangle some of my bickering and disdainful co-workers. I might not have had my fingers chopped off, or my family killed, but I was committed body and soul to my new network. "I'll never compromise the Brotherhood."

The electronic beeping on my wrist threw the others into an uneasy silence. They were staring at the gadgetry, Connor more so than others. He seemed to catalogue this moment away. Literally, he knew he was seeing the future of America, when the patriots won the war. Altaïr could have cared less, especially after my affirmation to the Brotherhood. Ezio stared at the watch like it was a demon sprung from hell.

"This might happen again," I said quickly, looking at the beeping watch on my wrist. The others were eying it suspiciously. "You might be brought here one more time. I was supposed to find out information regarding-"

My ancestors faded into nothingness even as my voice connected with the mechanized screaming and dialing of the computer.

Dammit.

XXX

The third time in the Animus, I couldn't believe that two ancestors resorted to me as the mediator. Connor didn't care.

I must have arrived later than usual, because Altaïr jerked back, hidden blade releasing. His mouth was screwed into a frown. I blinked up at him, and held up my hands without saying a word. I mean, what do you say to your ancestor poised to kill you? He bowed his head apologetically, and began, "This imbecile-"

Altaïr was bleeding, and Ezio had a freshly slashed scar.

Ezio's eyes snapped; he had been whining as usual. "You!" he muttered, "You call _me_ an imbecile?! Of all the Assassins who have ever lived upon the earth, you are the most...!" He proceeded to shout in Italian (the computer tried to translate but it couldn't keep up with the guy), hands wildly thrown into the sky. Altaïr did not look happy. The Animus fog crackled like a computer screen for a moment, throwing my mental aspect off.

A streak of confusion went through me. "Uh, guys…"

"I read the bloodline papers —rightfully stolen— of a Templar woman seduced by an _Arab_." Ezio's finger jabbed none too nicely toward the eldest relative, "I am a descendant of a whoring man and a _Templar_!"

Altaïr's fist punched into Ezio's stomach before I could stop him with a shout. "You would not be alive without '_that woman_'," he hissed furiously, hard knuckles bruising the Italian's muscles as they dug into his chest, then a slap at the neck. Connor seemed disturbed at the reference to a Templar woman being a part of his already mixed heritage. His eyes were darkening.

"Okay, okay, okay," I said quickly, waving the two away from each other. Ezio glowered, ready to leap at Altaïr. "Stop. Ezio, Altaïr is right. Neither of us would be here if not for Maria. Besides, you were a 'whoring man' in Italy in the young days! Good job. However," I pointed a finger toward Altaïr, meanly continuing, "It could have compromised the Brotherhood."

Altaïr only snorted. His long fingers rubbed his shoulder, and he stated coldly, "You do not tell me what would have compromised the Brotherhood." Dark eyes met mine. "I am a Master Assassin, and I will not be a betrayer like Al Mualim."

"You fucked a Templar," Connor said nastily, "You broke the Code of the Brotherhood. You compromised the Brotherhood, killed innocents-"

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!_ I silently screamed as Altaïr whirled in a perfect circle, hidden blade springing forth from between his cut finger. Its point was winking dangerously as it began its descent on the youngest of the incarnations of our lineage. Connor's face twisted into a scowl.

I leapt forward.

It hadn't been planned or intentional, but somewhere in my exploits of learning how each of these men moved through all the Animus lessons, I had found something inside of me that allowed me to fly, to crawl, to move faster than I thought possible without the Animus. I flung myself in front of Connor.

There was a surreal amount of pain, but as it faded, I remembered all the times I had died and broken bones while in the Animus. The breaking of the synchronization in my mind had been worse. Still, I could vividly feel the knife's edge neatly cutting my muscle straight to the bone on my forearm. Blinking in disbelief, I saw the blood leaking, not spraying. Thankfully, my ancestor hadn't gotten my underarm or the pulsing vein.

From my peripheral vision, I saw Ezio reaching for Altaïr to pull him back, and I saw Connor's shape, already dodging the intended blow as he tucked into a roll and fell into the white nothingness. Altaïr had recoiled, blade snicking back into place.

I managed to choke, "Ow. Fuck!"

Oh God that hurt! The muscles were burning. The blood was pumping out the recently acquired hole in my goddamn arm. My knees gave out, and I huffed as I tried to regain my sense of balance. The white, pulsing floor suddenly seemed too bright. Too clean with all my blood splattered across it.

From somewhere above me, I heard, "Forgive me, Desmond. My concern was not with you."

I was dumbfounded. Did he not care that he'd sliced my arm into ribbon? 'Forgive me, Desmond'? Really?! I couldn't feel part of my arm as my body began to go into shock. Adrenaline hit my heart, causing my eyesight to go red.

A dark hand was suddenly helping to lift me to my feet. Connor had taken the position behind my ruined arm, dragging me up. Unsure of how to proceed, he murmured, "Peace within you."

Oh all of these ridiculous ancestors! What did they think they were going to do after one of them had been killed? After my scare during the first session, Lucy had told me there was a reboot sequence to completely erase a certain section of the Animus's recording. So, while no one would die, I would never get anything accomplished. That pissed me off royally. While I liked seeing my ancestors face to face, I didn't want to see them that often. Dicks.

"Listen," I snapped, "I wanted to ask you if you know anything about the Pieces of Eden."

There was utter and complete silence, far deeper than I had even anticipated. I wondered if Lucy had turned off the sound for a moment. None of the white-clad assassins moved.

The Italian was the first to flinch. "Why must you know?" Ezio asked stiffly, frown spreading across his handsome face. "I have never heard of these 'Pieces of Eden'."

_Liar_. I thought in disbelief.

Shifting his weight onto his back foot, Altaïr snapped, "Even if I had, I refuse to discuss them in this white hell. The discussion is meant for quiet alleys and the strictest confidence." His eyes sliced me nearly as sharply as his hidden blade had. "I do not answer to one as you. You have not had the proper training for speaking in the tongue of code. You do not know who is listening above us." His forefinger jabbed into the weird ambient light above us.

Connor hesitated just behind me, drawing in a breath. "Agreed."

I wondered if it was infuriating Lucy. She'd asked me several times (by that, I remember her dogging me at breakfast, training, when I was talking to Shaun, at dinner, right before I went to sleep) to try to talk to them about the Pieces of Eden. Each time, she'd been in front of me, huge blue eyes staring up at me as she calmly explained that to help out The First Civilization, we'd need all the help we could get. Corroborating with my ancestors would be the fastest way, since most of the records were destroyed. I didn't mind helping. She was hot and in distress.

I wanted to help her, and these assholes weren't giving me the trust I needed. Even Connor was shying away. What could I even say?

The Animus began changing, whirring. I sensed the cute blonde girl was frustrated, and pulling me out. We'd have a discussion about how to bring them into the fold.

"Next time," I snapped, feeling the sensation of Lucy jerking me out of the Animus, "I will have my answers." The muscles in my forearm were sewing up as my body began the descent back into the light.

I noticed the shock, anger, and confusion on all of the faces of my ancestors as I lifted free. They were hiding something. I had to find out what.

XXX

The fourth time in the Animus, I felt sick when Altaïr didn't show.

Ezio was staring at the spot where our ancestor usually brooded. The Italian's eyes were bloodshot –I could tell it was from drinking- and he said quietly, "Where is the Arab? Death would roll over and bow to him if it came to that."

In my stunned state of mind, I realized it was the closest thing to a compliment Ezio had ever said about Altaïr.

My mouth dried up. Death. Hadn't I once thought that the Animus reminded me of Heaven?

"I'm glad he's already…well, _fathered_ Darim and Sef. From Maria," I heard Connor say hollowly. Instantly, I felt ashamed. I'd been thinking it too. Looking out for myself, when obviously my ancestor had just died? Wouldn't his body come here anyway?

A few moments passed, then white light split into my head and I exploded in pain-!

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XXX

The fifth time in the Animus, I was ready to say goodbye.

Rebecca had told me it would be a bad idea, especially since the Animus had been damaged in an explosion created by...Lucy. My heart pounded. The software could be malfunctioning, the wires destroyed from the fire. They had barely managed to correctly unsync me last time; I had been unconscious and bleeding out of my ears and nose. If my father, Shaun, or Rebecca hadn't been on hand, I would have died.

And from my knowledge, Altaïr's line could have ended. I didn't want to be the stone that fell too short.

Part of me cringed even thinking about Lucy. How cruel and careful had she had been, posing as assassin posing as a Templar, when she really was one? It explained getting out of Abstergo, it explained the way she had always pushed me to go harder and deeper into the memories, it explained _everything_ about the goddamn woman! I wasn't one to dwell, but after so long trusting her, it was hard to imagine anyone else there.

It had been her idea to try to create synchronization with all of the assassins. She had wanted to bring forth and record any information on the Templars, on the Pieces of Eden. It's why she had chided and reminded me to ask my ancestors about it. It had failed, mainly due to the untrusting and violent personalities of Altaïr, Ezio, and Connor.

But, there was no need to continue. I couldn't leave them with the fact of an explosion and pain, and no other word about each other. If all they got from this were a couple of weird, recurring dreams, I would have no qualms. They could chalk it up to stress.

Ezio winked into life next to me. I frowned as I saw he was a couple of years older, with a dark, thick beard. He did not suddenly jerk or insult or cry out, but he nodded, and said snippily, "Descendant."

"Jesus, you could be happier to see me," I retorted.

The Italian simply shrugged. "I was nearly killed when we met last. I will blame you."

I could feel the way the computer authorized another entry: Connor. The air rattled around me. He appeared off to the right, slick with water dripping down his long coat with buckles and clasps. A captain's hat was jauntily placed on his head of thick hair. I could nearly smell the salt stuck into his hair.

He was calm, as always. "I am sleeping in a raging storm. This is a welcome relief, my family."

It took a moment before Altaïr winked into life next to me, close enough to touch. His forehead was creased and bloodied, but he looked well, considering the rather frayed cloth and weapons crossed over his chest. His hood was thrown back, and his hair was in disarray. Upon seeing all of our concerned faces, he quipped, "I was hurt when I last came. The pain of stabbing kept me in the other world. It did not draw me to this place."

"So if you would have come, you would have been dying already?" I asked bluntly, noticing the way he hunched, "How long ago was that, when it tried to bring you here?"

"Two days."

I gulped. It had taken Rebecca three weeks to reprogram the machine. My father had nearly bashed my head in when I suggested entering the Animuas so soon. "I have news," I blurted out, continuing my line of thought, "The spy in the organization was caught. She was...a close friend. It was her idea to bring us together."

Connor's head jerked. "Is she...listening?"

They all looked slightly distrustful, so I put up a hand to stop their speculations, "No. She was...taken care of. My father is watching the monitors instead. We're in a safe location. I wanted you to know why you came this time. It's to let you know that you should continue, you know, your real lives. Do your thing and what-not."

I hesitantly held out a hand to Altaïr. When he accepted it slowly, I said truthfully to everyone assembled, "I want to thank you. For your contributions to this lineage. I wouldn't be here."

Altaïr looked at me as if I were a small child, not worth the response time. "It wasn't for you. I loved Maria."

Connor nodded awkwardly.

Ezio snorted.

"But," Altaïr said slowly, "I will not forget this experience. I am...glad my lineage has survive to such Brothers as those here." He bowed his head.

My throat clogged. How could I top that? Was there even a good way to say goodbye? Nodding wordlessly, I carefully offered my hand to each of them, grinning when they took it. I could feel the years of killing and hard work etched into each palm from the desert to the city to the wild, but I could see the way their teeth spread into smiles. How could they hate me? I was aware of their work, and I had admired them. I think they knew that. The three of them had lived for their work. They had outwardly hoped to save the future Brotherhood from such perils, but secretly wanted the struggle to continue.

I was the hope that they wanted: a new generation of Assassin. One who could help them defeat the Templars. It was the promise that they had done what they needed to do to succeed in their time.

I stepped back, saluting the three figures in white. The white cloth laid flat against weapons and muscle, but the color and cut accentuated each assassin's heritage. Altaïr, Connor, Ezio. I could remember donning each garb, guarding my ancestor as he even guarded me in a fistfight. Or the marketplace. Or the woods, fighting a bear. Time ceased to have any meaning. We were together.

Assassins.

I was Desmond, and I was an Assassin.

I cockily waved as the machine pulled me away. Rude gestures were made. Assholes.

I'd be seeing them soon.

_0_

_0_


End file.
